


pretty in pink

by buckgaybarnes



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, Idiots in Love, Lingerie, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Riding, hermann gottlieb: dirty old man, officially the SECOND horniest thing i've ever written, uprising don't interact, very mild dirty talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 22:18:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14882262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckgaybarnes/pseuds/buckgaybarnes
Summary: Newt has a birthday surprise for Hermann.





	pretty in pink

**Author's Note:**

> so a little while ago i asked twitter followers for fic prompts and feriowind requested newt + lingerie! i was more than happy to deliver but never, like, posted it anywhere. and then i found out hermann's birthday is tomorrow and i thought perfect timing, since it's coincidentally also a hermann birthday fic!
> 
> since it's now officially past midnight where i am and thus june 9, i'm unleashing this bad boy. happy birthday, hermann, i hope you have a lot of fun celebrating with your wonderful husband newt, who you've been married to happily for ten years with absolutely no interference from aliens or anything of the kind. youve earned it, you wonderful nerd

Newton’s been gone for twelve minutes.

Newton going unaccounted for under normal circumstances is worrisome; leave him to his own devices for too long, Hermann’s learned after years of sharing a lab and even more years of marriage, and he’s like to do something rash, impulsive. Newton going unaccounted for when he and Hermann were, moments prior, in the midst of making love is simply _frustrating_.

Newton undressed Hermann methodically, slowly, pausing to kiss every new inch of skin he exposed—Hermann’s wrists, his throat, his chest—and then carefully sat him down on the edge of the bed. When Hermann tried to tug him into his lap and kiss him, Newton shook his head with a small smile. “Give me five minutes,” he said with a little wink, but he let Hermann angle his face down and steal another long, lingering kiss before he skipped out of their bedroom.

That was twelve minutes ago. In five more seconds, it will have been thirteen minutes ago. Hermann’s palms lie flat against his knees and he has not moved from the edge of the bed. His nudity has regressed from something arousing (Newton above him, warm, touching) to something mildly unpleasant (insufficient central heating, cold hardwood flooring, a distressing lack of an equally nude Newton). Has Newton been distracted by something? It would not be the first time, regrettably not even in such a context as this. Fourteen minutes. “Newton?” He doesn’t bother trying to hide the irritation in his voice.

“Sorry!” Newton calls back immediately from right outside the door. There’s a sound as though he’s bumped into something, possibly the small table they keep just outside in the hallway, and Hermann heaves a sigh. And then the door swings open.

Newton is—in Hermann’s parka.

It’s comically long on him, sleeves extending beyond his hands, and Hermann begins to say “ _What_ ,” but Newton’s fluttering his eyelashes prettily and crossing the distance to the bed in short strides. That’s when Hermann notices what covers Newt’s legs just below of the bottom hem of the parka: lacy stockings. All coherent thought flies from Hermann’s mind. He thinks he may be gaping.

Newton beams at him, clearly pleased at the reaction he’s getting, and comes to a stop in between Hermann’s legs. He lifts Hermann’s hands and brings them to the front of his—Hermann’s—coat. “Happy birthday, Hermann!” he exclaims, and then, with the most ridiculous, exaggerated sultry look, “Are you gonna unwrap me?”

It’s a testament to the sheer amount of desire thrumming through Hermann’s body right now that he does not roll his eyes but, instead, obliges, tugs the zipper down, down, and then—carefully—lets the parka slip from Newton’s body to the floor below. “Oh, Newton,” he breathes, drinking in the sight of him dazedly; the lace stockings end at Newton’s thighs (adorned with small bows), which lead to garters, which lead to soft, light pink lace underwear and a matching lacy corset, both adorned with more bows. Hermann’s fingers hover over the fabric, over the exposed skin where Newton’s tattoos stand out vibrantly, and he’s very nearly trembling. “Newton,” he repeats, mouth dry, “may I—”

Newton covers Hermann’s hands with his own and presses them to his chest. “ _Please_ ,” he says, and that’s all the encouragement Hermann needs. He runs his hands down the corset, strokes the inch of small pudge uncovered on Newton’s stomach, settles them on the soft curves of Newton’s hips, then drifts lower to Newton’s thighs, to the tops of the stockings. He doesn’t want to stop touching. He doesn’t think he can stop touching.

He pulls at Newton until Newton catches the hint and straddles him gently, legs spread out on either side of Hermann’s waist, and Hermann slides his hands down them slowly, reveling in the feeling of the lace and the way it makes Newton shiver. “You look lovely,” he says softly, and Newton preens at the praise. “Stunning, even.” He leans in and presses a kiss to Newton’s left clavicle, where the colorful tendrils of his tattoos poke out from the top of the corset, and drags his tongue lightly across Newton’s sternum to kiss the right one.

He slides his hands back up to squeeze Newton’s thighs, rubbing his thumbs in little circles just where stocking meets garter, and Newton makes a small noise in the back of his throat. Hermann shifts his hips minutely, just enough so that his bare erection can brush Newton’s through the lace of his underwear. The sensation is overwhelming; he gasps into Newton’s skin. “Kiss me,” Newton begs, sounding breathless, “c’mon—” He licks his lips and presses them to Hermann’s clumsily, their noses bumping, and Hermann deepens the kiss as he plucks at one of the garters.

Newton sighs breathily into his mouth and Hermann does it again, and then to the other side, and then he slides his fingers up and up until he’s skimming them along the lacy edges of the underwear and under just enough to tease. Newton pulls off with another sigh, more like a groan this time, and his pupils are blown and his lips are red. “Hermann,” he says, and his mouth falls open when Hermann shifts his hips again, and Hermann cannot fight the urge to capture it in another kiss. It’s much needier, and he coaxes the most wonderful sounds out of Newton with it, but Newton pulls away again. “Wait,” he pants, when Hermann chases him, “wait, wait, I want you to—” Hermann strokes his hands up Newton’s sides, warm and soft and lacy; Newton’s eyelids flutter and he seems to lose his train of thought, but only for a moment. “Jeez, dude, I didn’t think you’d be _this_ into it.”

There’s a blush rising to his cheeks, and it makes warmth blossom in Hermann’s chest. He wants nothing more than to kiss it pinker—Newton looks _so_ lovely in pink—so he quickly ducks in and brushes his lips across one of Newton’s cheekbones. Success. “You have an alarming capacity to turn me onto anything,” Hermann confesses. He leans forward and nuzzles against the lace lining the top of the corset, kisses the crest of Newton’s collarbone again. “What is it that you want, darling?”

Newton’s never been one to be bashful during sex—quite the opposite, in fact, _he_ usually makes _Hermann_ blush—but he seems dazed. Hermann wonders if Newton’s as overwhelmed as Hermann is, if he can’t find words the way Hermann can’t stop touching him. Still: he likes hearing Newton vocalize his desire. He traces the lace edges of the underwear again, nips at the skin of Newton’s shoulder. The twinge of pain makes Newton blink. “I wanna ride you,” Newton says, “if that’s cool. I mean, it’s your birthday, so—”

“Of _course_ ,” Hermann says.

Newton disentangles himself from Hermann and springs to his feet eagerly. “Just lie back,” he says. His waist is eye level with Hermann now, and Hermann can see quite vividly how his erection strains against the lace, pokes out at the top, how the fabric's damp with precome. He wants _so badly_ to just reach out and hold Newton in place, to lean forward and mouth at him until he’s shaking apart in Hermann’s arms. But, too late; Newton’s at their dresser and digging through the top drawer for lube before he can act on impulse. It’s a pity, but then it’s not, because then Newton is back and nudging him until he’s lying against the pillows and straddling Hermann’s thighs once more. Hermann ghosts his fingertips over the bulge in Newton’s underwear. Newton’s eyes flicker shut. “Would you prefer I ready you?” he says. Newton nods, uncaps the bottle and hands it to Hermann. He lies forward, settles himself down on his elbows on either side of Hermann.

It can’t be the most comfortable position for Newton, but it will work. Besides, Hermann can steal kisses at his leisure like this. Hermann reaches around and slips the underwear down just enough to work Newton open with slick fingers until Newton is pushing back against him and gasping into his mouth, cock leaking precome where it’s pressed between their chests. “Oh, fuck, Hermann,” he whines, “c’mon, can I—” Hermann pulls his fingers out and Newton immediately sits up, barely remembering to put more lube on Hermann’s cock before he’s sinking down with a grunt.

Newton’s eager, he’s always too eager, and Hermann’s only just adjusted to the tight warmth of him when Newton starts moving his hips in little circles, a flush slowly spreading down the top of his chest. Hermann, at first, is content to lie back and watch the show as Newton starts to rock himself backward and forward, more and more urgently, arms braced on the bed behind him. He makes for a nice sight: pink lace against the swirling colors of his skin, underwear bunched around his thighs, head thrown back. But Newton grows impatient and drags Hermann's hands up to his waist again. “C’mon,” he says, “c’mon, touch me—” He breaks into a moan when Hermann snaps his hips up.

“Touch you where?” Hermann breathes, but he settles on the backs of Newton’s thighs at the tops of the stockings, massaging the skin lightly, and he feels Newton’s muscles strain with exertion. “Like that?”

Newton rocks his hips faster, muscles straining harder as he starts to pick himself up from the bed with each movement. “Yeah,” he moans.

Hermann cups his ass instead, kneading the skin, fingers dancing just shy of where Newton is furiously working himself up and down on Hermann’s cock. “Or like that?” he says, and he spreads Newton just a fraction further open on Newton’s next downstroke, and Newton makes a high, needy noise and grinds down on his cock.

“Yeah, yeah,” Newton moans again. He starts fucking himself on Hermann in earnest as Hermann urges him on with more kneading, more squeezing. Newton’s as noisy during sex as he is in every other facet of life, and the only difference is that he doesn’t even bother trying for some decorum in the former. “Fuck, Hermann, _Her_ mann,” he whines, and when Hermann starts thrusting his hips up to meet him halfway, Newton’s words start tumbling out loudly, only half of them making sense. “ _Fuck_ me, yeah, oh, fuck—”

Hermann, typically, only engages in dirty talk if Newton requests it beforehand, but he’s feeling particularly wound up tonight and Newton is only pushing him further (and it _is_ Hermann’s birthday), so he thinks he may indulge himself. He moves one hand to wrap around Newton’s cock and takes a deep breath when he feels how much Newton’s leaking. “Did you really wear that nice get-up for me,” he says, voice low, “or was it just for yourself?”

“N-no,” Newton chokes out, pushing forward into Hermann’s hand. “It was for—”

“Did you want to feel dirty?” He starts jerking Newton off slowly while Newton grinds himself down again, whimpering and shuddering when Hermann hits his prostate. “Did you want to feel—” he trips over the word, but he knows the instantaneous effect it will have on Newton and that it’s worth it, “ _slutty_?”

It works. “ _Yes_ ,” Newton moans, long and low, and he spreads his legs as wide as he can with the underwear still bunched up and Hermann works his hand faster. “Yes, yes—say it again, say it again—”

“Because you _do_ look slutty.” Hermann rolls his hips up. “With—” he’s breathing heavily, finding it difficult to not let himself get carried away as well, and groans when Newton takes him in particularly deep, “—those stockings, and—oh, _Newton_ —those little _bows_ —” If he were not buried in Newton, if Newton were not bouncing enthusiastically atop him, he would’ve liked nothing more than to lay Newton out below him on the sheets and jerk himself off until he was painting that nice lace and swirling ink with ejaculate. Next time, next time; he can aid Newton, after all, in achieving the effect just as well right now.

Hermann gives up holding back and starts thrusting into Newton with abandon, stripping one hand along his cock and gripping his ass tighter with the other. Newton’s cries get louder, until finally he lets out a particularly shrill one and clenches down hard around Hermann. His cock jerks in Hermann’s hand as he shoots come across his corset and Hermann moans at the sight. “Oh,” he breathes, reaching up and smearing the mess into the fabric, and Newton clenches down around him again with a whimper and Hermann comes too.

Newton finally rolls off of him after what feels like an hour, flushed and dazed and laughing. “Okay, dude,” he says, “we are definitely doing that again.” He runs his hand along his corset, wincing at the sticky mess. “Might have to get new shit, though. I don’t even know how I would wash this.” Hermann hums in agreement, drags his fingers through it too.

“Mm,” he agrees. “Maybe something in light blue. Or a little skirt.” He starts rubbing Newton’s come into the fabric again, imagining that it’s his own, and he feels another thrill through his body. “A little skirt and stockings with nothing else.” He could bend Newton over a desk, hold his legs apart, duck his head under the skirt and tongue him open—

“Oh my _God_ , Hermann,” Newton laughs again, eyes wide in bewilderment. He swats Hermann’s hand away playfully. “You’re a dirty old bastard, you know that?” He’s grinning.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Hermann says, returning the smile.

**Author's Note:**

> as usual: tumblr @ hermannsthumb, twitter @ hermanngaylieb !


End file.
